Rend the Worlds
by Tonzura123
Summary: There is a Boy Who Flies, and his nightmares are ripping the worlds apart. As observed by Mrs. Kirke. Crossover with Peter Pan by J M Barrie. No warnings or pairings.


REND THE WORLDS

by Tonzura123

**Disclaimer: I own neither Narnia nor Neverland, not now nor never. (But I do dare you to say that five times fast.)**

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_"She dreamt that the Neverland had come too near and that a strange boy had broken through from it. He did not alarm her... but in her dream he had rent the film that obscures the Neverland, and she saw Wendy and John and Michael peeping through the gap," _pg. 8 "Peter Pan"

* * *

She wakes suddenly to the opening of a door.

The stifled air is cut open and refreshed by the visitor, but in her body, she can still feel where the cancer sits, leadened, deep in the blood of her limbs and pinning her to the bed. The thin coverlet is too heavy to lift. She can barely turn her head to see the visitor who springs so energetically, steps so unnaturally towards her as if he had wings.

"I have it!" her boy cries. He is mussed and ruddy, and alight with delight. In his hand is an apple as red as blood- redder. It could almost bring a glow of its own to the room, and in the palm of his grubby hand he brings it to her as an offering.

"Digory," she remembers in confusion. Her eyes wander to the moonlight in the window and the lamp by the bed. "Darling, are you still awake?"

Her son sits by her side with a bright smile, something so foreign and wonderful on his typically grave face that she _must _smile with him.

"Can you eat something, Mother?" he asks.

Her stomach is in fits, but he is smiling so dearly. Yes, she can eat something.

Digory draws out a knife and begins peeling the brilliant apple; long, smooth curls of cheery skin unwinding into the space between them like the mobile above a cradle. "Here- you always like the peels first."

He gives her the end, and she goes along with him, slipping the train of fruit between her sore teeth. She begins to chew as he unravels the apple with the knife, pure white skin shimmering with juice. The taste of it is astounding, her tongue buzzing with something like electricity.

She breaks off the tail and swallows. Warmth builds in her cheeks and she blinks at him, suddenly clear-eyed. "Digory, where ever did you find this apple?"

"Please, Mother," he says. "Don't stop eating until it's all gone."

There is a seriousness much like his father's speaking from his eyes. She picks up the apple peel and chews again, though her teeth are not as sore as before and her appetite has improved.

"You wouldn't believe me anyway," he continues. "If I told you."

The sweetness coats her mouth, it's there when she licks her lips. "Try me."

"Well there was a lion," he says. "And a witch and a bell and this girl called Polly."

"Hallo," she teases.

"_Mother_."

She laughs and falls back to the apple while her son gathers himself.

"I suppose it started when I met Polly- she's our neighbor, did you know? We were exploring the attics of the houses when we found ourselves in Uncle Andrew's study..."

And her son tells her the story of Narnia, of a magic land ruled by a Talking Lion, and of an evil Witch who rode around London on the top of a cab, of an enchanted Bell, and of a language made of nothing but a Deep and powerful magic that can sing an entire world into being. And as he tells her, he unravels the apple down to the very center, until nothing but the thinnest core remains. And then the sleep begins to pull on her, real and soft and the best thing she could ask for. And as she slips between the worlds, she feels her son's lips rest on her cheek, and a spark like magic unravelling inside her blood.

**OoOoOoOoO**

She dreams of the stars.

But they aren't only stars as humans know them- of gas and fire and consumption- but creatures themselves. They speak into her ears, and whisper of her son and the wonders that will befall tell her his future, his present, his past.

And the Stars show her her own bedroom, where her arms lay limp at her sides, chest rising and falling in the gentlest of rests.

Digory is there, asleep at her side. The rest of the house is quiet, no maids or uncles or aunts to intrude. In her dream, the Stars hold her hands and waits, just as Stars are known for, to watch the worlds collide.

There is a shiver from the heavens, and like a knife through a veil a fiery spark falls through the skies, piloting itself haphazardously through the clouds and the towers, slowing only before _her_ window. This fiery spark pauses just long enough for her to make out the form of a second boy- a wild boy. His light hair and bright eyes shine in the dimness of the room. At his shoulder, a second light flares and jingles.

Light feet hit the floorboards. Dirty and bloody, they pad across to where Digory sleeps.

Or does not sleep, for in that moment, Digory suddenly speaks, without lifting his head or moving at all;

"We have nothing to steal, if that's what you're after."

"That's not what I'm after," the wild boy says indignantly. "Not tonight, anyway. I've come to kidnap you." He rather mades it sound like the best thing a boy could ask for, but Digory remains unmoved.

"I'm not going."

The boy steps up into the air and floats across the bed to see Digory's face. "I can take you on an adventure. You can live with me and my band. Never have to worry. Never have to live with these grownups telling you what to do."

Digory's head shifts, nodding deeper into the coverlet. "Why me?"

"I invite all orphans," the wild boy says proudly, crossing his arms over his skeleton-leaf chest. "To join the Lost Boys. They are well named."

"I'm not an orphan."

"Isn't she dying?" the boy asks curiously.

At this, Digory half-stands, hands fisting on the bed, looking just as fierce and other-worldly as the Boy Who Flies. "No! She's better now. Aslan healed her."

"Aslan?" the boy asks, turning upside down in the air to frown. The little light by his shoulder makes a series of chimes, and he flips right-side up again. "You've been to a new world!" he accuses.

"I have," Digory agrees. "How did you know?"

"Tink says you've got the Stuff all over you," he says knowledgably.

"The Stuff?"

"Star Stuff. Sky Stuff. It gets on you when you pass between. And you're _covered_ in it!"

"That," says Digory," is because I have only recently returned from an adventure."

"An adventure!" exclaims the boy. "But you're not covered in blood."

"It wasn't that kind of adventure."

"What? No sword-fighting? No pirates?"

"Better," said Digory, warming to the subject. "There was a Witch and a Talking Lion called Aslan who created a whole world out of nothing but a Magic Song in an Old language that only exists there."

"But there's no _blood_," the boy insists. He gives a wicked grin and draws his sabre, cutting at the air as if to open up another path. "If I had gone there, I would have slayed that witch and made the lion my pet and we would ride about the world killing all the grownups who got in our way!"

"What a beastly-" Digory begins, then snap his mouth shut and looks angrily at the boy. "No. Even Beasts are better than that. That's a simply _stupid _thing to do. You sound like my mad old Uncle!"

In a heartbeat, the blade is under Digory's chin.

"Take it back," the boy says cooly. "Or fight to the death."

Digory raises his hand and pushes the blade away. "If you had even _seen _Aslan, you would agree with me."

"Would not!"

"Would too."

"Would not!"

"Would too!"

"Would-"

"-I bet you would," Digory says. There is something sly sitting in the corner of his smile, but he hides it well. "I bet if you could get into Narnia, you would never even consider fighting Aslan. I bet this shirt!" And he plucks the stiff Eton-collar with a dismissive hand.

"That shirt doesn't look like much," says the Flying Boy dubiously. "But I bet you're wrong."

"Then prove it," Digory replied. "I dare you to go to Narnia right now and see Aslan."

She can see now that this Flying Boy cannot resist the dare, the chance to prove his mettle, as it were. And Digory has seen this too, leaping at the opportunity like a lion in wait.

"Very well!" it is announced, "I accept your challenge, knave. But know this: when I return from battle, I'll be wearing Aslan like a coat!"

"Perhaps, perhaps not," conceded Digory.

"Perhaps!" crowed the boy.

Like a light, he winked out of sight, and then the Sight winked out with him.

**OoOoOoOoO**

She wakes again to cold pressing on her heart.

For one horrible moment she thinks that the cancer had finally eaten her away, but then that cold is only a metallic circle, warming fast, and her Doctor's voice greeting her from above, "Good morning, Mrs. Kirke."

"Good morning, Doctor."

He smiles, little glasses on the bridge of his nose. They catch the lamp light and his dark hair is shiny with product.

"Pardon me, Dr. Greenwald, might I-?" she gestures behind him towards the window, and he understandingly shifts so that she can look out of it. The grey smog of London is lighting up with the sunrise, the elm in the back yard framing the neighbourhood with it's branches.

But there is no boy, and no whispering lights.

With a sigh, she settles back on the pillows. The cold metal reaches back under her collar, and slides across her chest, listening for "irregularities."

"I had a very strange dream, Dr. Greenwald."

"Not stressful, I hope?"

"No. Rather like a dream should be, I imagine. Unexplainable, but somehow perfectly rational."

"I know what you mean," Dr. Greenwald replies. He winds the stethoscope up and tucks it into his black leather bag. "I had a dream about a cabbie who's cab was pulled by polar bears. And there was this bizarre woman in white, cracking a whip."

She smiles. "Very strange, for you Doctor."

"Well, I can't say that my profession allows for a lot of dreaming," he says. Then appears to remember whom he is speaking with. And then he seems to recall the heart he has just listened to.

With a strange look in his eye, Dr. Greenwald reaches back into his bag. "Pardon me, Mrs. Kirke. I just need to check something..."

"Is something the matter?"

"No," he says, sounding very surprised. "No, that's just it."

Which is perhaps the best way for her to find out that the cancer has vanished overnight.

**OoOoOoOoO**

The house in the country is lovely, and the grounds are marvelous, and her husband is a fairy prince.

As soon as he returned from India, they- Mr and Mrs Kirke and little Digory, made for Old Kirke's country manor. The ride was long, was the air grew sweeter and fuller with every breath, until she just wanted to stand up and run alongside the train for the rest of the way. Digory had looked very much of the same mind.

Their first night there is lovely. After slipping out of her husband's bed, she pads down the hall to Digory's room and knocks softly.

"Come in, Mother."

Her son is sitting at the foot of his bed, smiling as he has been for days.

"Darling," she mocks. "Are you still awake?"

"It would seem so," he grins, then pats the bedside, where she lightly rests herself. He leans against her and buries his face in the long train of her hair, unwound from it's braid for once.

They sit very still and happily for a while, and she strokes his hair from his forehead like she had when he was only a baby, rubbing the shell of his ear and leaving a kiss on the top of his head.

He sighs deeply.

"Darling," she murmurs. "Won't you sleep now?"

With a yawn, he pulls away and shakes his head. "Can't, Mother. I'm waiting for someone."

"Someone named Polly?"

"_Mother_," he says. But he is smiling again. "No."

"The Sandman?"

"Closer."

"Saint Nicholas?"

"Cold again."

"Won't you tell mummy who?" she cooes, tickling his sides. He squeals, a surprising sound from her stoic boy, and so she catches him fast when he tries to squirm away. "Tell mummy who! Tell mummy who!"

He is giggling helplessly. It is adorable. And she feels stronger than ever.

"Is it a flying boy?"

Digory's eyes go comically wide, but he recovers very well. "A flying boy?"

"The kind who uses sky stuff to fly," she continues. "Who fights lions and likes to crow."

A small curl is forming in the corner of his mouth, not as sly as it had been That Night, but close. "The kind who travels betweens the worlds and can smell out another traveller."

"The kind that wears leaves and dirt like an Eton collar."

"The kind that lives in a fantasy world."

"Especially that kind."

The smile at one another, and everything in those smiles is laid bare for once.

**OoOoOoOoO**

She wakes inside of a dream of gold and red and a mighty tree towering over her like a fortress. Roosted in the branches is a boy, the Boy Who Flies. His palm rests on the trunk and he crouches low, skeleton leaves covering him like feathers. His blue eyes are burning, and across his forehead his an imprint of an apple tree, like a tattoo made of light.

"Hallo," she greets.

"So you're his mother," the boy says. "And you aren't dead."

"I never was," she replies.

"Oh, but you were," he retorts. A wind slips through the branches, and while it nearly knocks her off of her feet, the tree barely shivers. "I've been to hundreds of worlds, you know. The fairies guide me to them."

"The fairies," she says on hunch. "Like Tink?"

He shows his pearls to her, his smile all teeth, like a shark. "The fairies dare not enter the Land of the Dead. Not like you have."

"I was _never dead_," she insists.

"Look at your hand, Lady," he invites.

She looks. There is a dark X over the palm of her hand. "What is this?"

"Death," he says. The word has him inching closer to the trunk of the tree. "He put his mark on you. I could smell it. Digory must have very good magics to save you from that stink."

Digory. The thought of him reminds her. She brings her marked hand and touches her lips, dreaming that she can taste the apple that he had given her.

"Very good magics," she murmurs to herself. "The magics of Aslan."

A feral hiss startles her.

The Boy wedges himself against the trunk. He gnashes his pearls in her direction and rubs at his palm.

"Are you hurt?" she asks, alarmed to remember how this boy had boasted that he would face this Aslan and wear him as a cape. And the mother in her cannot bear the thought of it. "Let me see."

"I'm not hurt!" It is petulant. It is a lie.

And, glittering, in the mighty tree, hangs a bright red apple.

"There! Boy, give me some of your fairy dust so that I can help you."

"Fairies don't help _grownups_."

That alerts her mothering side as well, but in a very different way. At first she is tempted to scold him, until she realizes that it would do no good.

"And besides," she says. "I have done enough sleeping and dreaming to know how this works."

She jumps and pushes down on the air with her hands, feeling the cushioning air beneath her as if she had wings. With a little will and a little more flapping, she flies onto the branch beside the Boy and reaches around him, plucking the apple from the hanging branch.

It comes with a whisper, like a promise, and weighs heavy in her hand.

"Here, darling. Eat some."

He turns his face from her. Something slips from his eye.

"_Please _eat some- this is how I became well, I'm sure of it."

"No!"

Strangely, she thinks of Digory.

"Think fast."

She tosses and he catches, his hand flying out almost faster than she can follow. But she does follow. And she understands all at once. He looks furious with himself, but folds his arms and hides it against his chest, neither eating the fruit nor throwing it away.

"Eat it or don't. But whatever you're frightened of, I promise you that this will fix it."

"I'm not frightened of anything."

She looks at his hand a little longer than she should, then down at the black X on her own.

"Oh, darling. You shouldn't have to be."

**OoOoOoOoO**

She leaves him in dreams for her boy in the countryside manor.

Maybe once, the Boy would have been her responsibility. Once, when their paths were the same. Once, before that good magicks found her.

She leaves him, with Death and Life chasing him tirelessly through the worlds. He will not bend.

And he will rend the worlds that way.

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**A/N: This story wasn't supposed to be so serious, but it sure turned out that way! **

**Exams this week for me, then new classes start up next week. Those are extra intro-courses, so that should mean more writing time. Emrys Emergent's new chapter is pretty far along, and Magician's Cousins will be a close second. **

**Like it? Hate it? Loathe entirely? Let me know via review, PM, or my facebook page!**

**In the meantime, I hope you're all having great summers.**

**And happy birthday, floppsearsthebunny!**

**As Always,**

**-Tonzura123**


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